Sunday night's Ramadan festivities went on at least until 2:30am when I fell asleep. The music sounded great, very percussion-heavy and festive, and I was really tempted to see what everything looked like by that point, but going outside again would've meant putting my shoes back on, and my feet were not interested in that concept at all.
We got up around 9am and went up to the roof for breakfast (above): two very different semolina breads, harcha and baghrir; cold fresh watermelon; small bowls of honey, fresh butter, apricot preserves, and sharp feta; orange juice and there in the center some kind of not-too-exciting coffee cake. Plus coffee. Pretty realistic-seeming and totally tasty.
Then we went out to try and find the Kasbah, and maybe see the old palace.
Nothing was open, and no one was on the streets, except for a couple of "guides", who seemed to be able to read our minds: just when we'd say, "Oooh, let's go look at the sea," someone would immediately slink into sight and say in a weaselly voice, "Good morning, there's a lovely sea view just over here, I'd be happy to show it to you."
So we just stopped thinking of things and wandered vaguely towards the direction we thought the Kasbah might be in.
The nice thing about being nearly alone on the streets was that you could semi-unselfconsciously stop and document some of the crazy amount of ancient, artistic detail that was just everywhere (and when I say "you", I mean Nelson, who took most of these photos).
This is an often-NSFW, mostly gluten-free kitchen notebook that also occasionally threatens to turn into something else and fails, thus remaining its same old cryptic and superficial self. These posts begin to fail to explain (start at the bottom).